


The Sandwich Means

by alpheratz



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crying, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/pseuds/alpheratz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always help each other out. (Four times a member of MCR cried and what happened afterward.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sandwich Means

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains some discussion of depression, drinking, and a mention of casual drug use. Mostly, though, this is lighthearted, slightly cracky bandfamily fluff. Rating is for language. Thanks to inlovewithnight and cinco: you are the best. Title is from [Captain Awkward](http://captainawkward.com/2012/02/13/190-the-sandwich-means-i-love-you-a-valentine/).

_2012_

Gerard is always tired on tour, all the time. Yeah, they're used to sleeping on a moving bus, used to sleeping lightly drugged on the plane, but when it's two weeks into a tour and he hasn't touched his kid or his wife, that's hard.

It's even harder when the Internet isn't working and he can't even see their faces. Ray being pissy, tsking and huffing every two fucking minutes as the network once again fails to connect, is not helping.

"Goddammit," Ray mutters under his breath, and starts angrily typing on his phone. At least the 3G works sometimes. Sort of.

Gerard watches him blankly as he types, pauses, types again, then swears and types some more. "Stop tweeting," says Mikey in a bored voice. He and Frank are camped out on the other bed watching some Australian reality show.

Gerard blinks. "What's he tweeting?"

Mikey swipes down the screen on his phone. "Right now he's yelling at a fan because he doesn't want to go to the beach."

"Ray or the fan?" asks Gerard mechanically, sighing and turning off his tablet. He doesn't fucking feel like working and the weak hotel wi-fi he's picking up won't even let him read email.

Frank giggles and Ray flips them off, and, in a feat of dexterity, stabs his phone with the thumb of the same hand, apparently hitting send. "I'm right here," says Ray.

"No, that fan gave you pretty good advice, Toro. You should go to the beach, put some color on those thighs," says Frank.

"Fuck off," Ray snaps. He looks really mad and Frank looks gleeful the way he only does when he's riling someone up or telling them about his kids.

Gerard has a headache punching him directly in the back of his eyeball. The ass of his eyeball. "If you're going to be assholes, fucking do it in the other room."

"Mikey, how come he's allowed to be an asshole while telling us not to be assholes?" asks Frank.

Mikey is completely silent in response and Gerard grits his teeth. Mikey not picking sides is the last straw on top of a shit sundae, and fuck mixed metaphors.

"This is bullshit," he says loudly enough that Frank jumps and glares at him. Gerard glares back. "I swear to god, if anyone ever even floats the idea of coming back here again, I'll rip up my passport. I'm serious," he adds as Frank cracks up.

"No, no," says Frank, taking a deep breath and breaking into quiet snickers anyway. "That's very intimidating."

"Don't even think of telling Lauren," Gerard says. He sounds shrill even to himself, but his ears are ringing and his eyes are closing of their own accord, and everything seems to flow like molasses.

"Lauren's probably got the room bugged, man. Hide your passport now," Ray says.

Gerard opens his mouth and Mikey says in the same bored voice, "They're winding you up. Chill out."

Gerard closes his mouth and gets off the bed instead, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. He angrily takes a piss and scrapes his dick on the zipper, and bursts into fucking tears looking at himself in the mirror behind the sink.

He chokes back the sobs and runs the tap at full pressure so the guys don't hear, but this fancy hotel has thin fucking walls.

"Shit," he hears Frank's muffled voice through the door. "Do you think we should--"

"Fuck's sake," says Ray. "Let me--" and opens the door.

Gerard wipes his eyes and ducks his head, turning away from the door, but he's not fast enough. Ray touches him on the shoulder and pulls him in for a hug, ruffling his hair with one hand.

Gerard's face kind of ends up in his armpit. "My face is in your armpit," he mumbles into Ray's armpit, still shuddering from trying to keep the sobs in.

"I hope you feel special," says Ray, rubbing circles on Gerard's back. It's really fucking nice. Gerard snorts, preventing what feels like an ocean of snot from escaping all over Ray's t-shirt, and pulls back until Ray releases him.

Frank is looking at him from the bathroom doorway with an expression that's half him trying not to laugh when Gerard's being an idiot and half fiercely protective. He holds out a tissue and Gerard takes it and blows his nose, feeling completely pathetic.

Ray nudges him gently through the doorway and towards the bed. It's folded down and the sheets are bright and crisp against the garish hotel comforter. Gerard gets tunnel vision, like the bed is the only thing left in the world, and it only takes another nudge before he's crawling between the sheets.

"Take your pants off first, maybe?" says Frank.

"I'm not wearing underwear," says Gerard and waves his arms like he's making a snow angel in the bed.

"Oh god, don't take your pants off," says Ray. "Did you run out or is this a lifestyle choice?"

"Ran out," says Gerard. He wrinkles his nose and rubs his hand over his face, getting the crusty drying tears off. Gross. "Fucking maimed myself on my zipper in there."

"You hurt yourself going commando? You're getting old," says Frank seriously.

"Don't remind me, you fuck." Gerard yawns. "Where's Mikey? Is he pissed at me?"

"Mikey went to get you a snack." Ray drags the covers up a little bit and Frank bats his hands away, butting in to pull up the edges neatly up to Gerard's chin.

Gerard cracks up and Frank crosses his eyes at him, and then grins and sits down on the edge of Gerard's bed. "Better?"

"Mm-hmm," Gerard says. His eyes slide shut. "Tell me a story."

"Once upon a time there was a little boy named Gerard and he grew up to be an asshole, the end."

Gerard drags one of his hands up from under the covers with great effort to flip Frank off, but the door clacks open before he can. Gerard's eyes fly open and he sits up, trying to untangle himself from the sheet.

Mikey walks in with a little smile and a Starbucks tray. "Did you get me coffee?" Gerard says.

"I got you a smoothie." Mikey sits down on the other side of the bed and sets the tray down between them, handing Gerard a wet, slippery cup with something yellow and frothy inside as Frank and Ray converge on the lattes. "Your caffeine privileges have been temporarily revoked."

Gerard gives Mikey a sad look but sips his smoothie. "This tastes magical."

Mikey slurps his latte loudly. "Good. My coffee definitely doesn't taste magical."

"Oh, shut up," says Gerard. He sucks up the rest of the smoothie and lies back down. He feels fizzy, like he's floating in a healing tank, like every painful crack is being filled and smoothed over, fixed by the clean cotton around him and Frank and Mikey gently petting his legs.

"We're gonna try to get the Internet to work in the other room," Ray whispers from the direction of the door.

"You gonna be okay here?" asks Frank.

"Yeah," Gerard mumbles through a yawn. "Have fun."

Frank gives Gerard's leg one final pat and the mattress shifts up where he'd been sitting. On Mikey's side, the mattress dips further, and Gerard feels a hand on his temple, sliding up and smoothing his hair back. "We'll come get you when it's time to go," says Mikey quietly.

"Love you," Gerard mumbles to the room. The sounds start to fall away, the noise of the closing door distant in his ears, and everything fades out.

 

_2010_

A hellish wail, with a nightmarish crackling sound effect courtesy of the baby monitor, jolts Frank awake again. He feels around next to him, but it's just cold sheets and empty space. It fucking sucks when Jamia is away.

Frank closes the bedroom door behind him and heads towards the screaming, into the nursery. He glares at the robot wallpaper and the green frog night light and the rest of the fucking cutesy shit he loves by daylight and looks down at his kids in the crib. Lily's screaming. Cherry's sucking her thumb and staring up at Frank. She's fucking cute. Frank pats Cherry on the head, tells her to sleep like a good baby, and scoops up Lily.

"Why are you screaming?" asks Frank in the most cheerful tone of voice he can summon. He sits down in the rocking chair his mom had insisted every nursery needed. Frank eventually had to admit that the rocking chair was pretty nice, especially after he started covering it in band stickers. It’s almost satisfying to plant his ass on Manson and Earth Crisis stickers with a screaming baby in the middle of the night. "I fed you an hour ago. Your diaper is fine."

Lily wails and sobs. Frank rocks her back and forth. It only makes the crying louder, and Frank leans back in the chair, exhaling hard from frustration. "Seriously, it's wrong for you to have better lung capacity than me."

Frank strokes Lily's hair and rocks her until her crying turns less shrill. "That's better, baby. Do you want to hang out with your sister now?" he asks and lowers her gently into the crib. The crying picks up again, even more lively than before, as if the short break re-energized her, and Frank realizes with weary horror that Cherry is starting to fuss too.

Twenty minutes later, the babies are still crying and Frank is so fucking exhausted he puts them back in the crib, sits back down, runs his hands through his hair a few times, and hits Gerard's speed dial.

Gerard picks up after about a billion rings. "Frank? It's fuck o'clock. What's going on?" His voice is shot, scratchy and sleepy, and Frank feels a flash of mean satisfaction that he woke Gerard up.

Frank slides down and kicks at the dresser across from him, making the chair rock back and nearly overbalance. "Shit," he mutters, fumbling to keep a grip on his phone. "Hey, Gee. My kids won't fucking sleep."

"Is that why you're calling?" It's amazing how quickly people wake up when you annoy them enough, Frank thinks.

"Yeah, you went through this stage, right?" Frank asks reasonably. "You can give me tips."

"I did, and now I'm going through the stage where I get woken up by twenty-five pounds of child sitting on top of me at six in the morning, which is in _two hours_ , Frank. Two!"

"But you're totally awake now, right?" asks Frank over a fresh bout of shrieking. "Bestow your wisdom upon me, Geezy. What the fuck do I do to make them stop?"

Gerard sighs, loud and put-upon, about a seven on Frank's secret Gerard's Sighs scale. He's really good at those. Frank wonders if Lindsey's scale is similar to his. "Rub whiskey on their gums or something, I don't know."

"Rub-- what?" Frank blinks.

"It's a traditional remedy," says Gerard.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," says Gerard. "That it?"

"I fucking hate you," says Frank, heartfelt, and listens to the crying. It seems to be simmering down, but his eardrums are on fire so he doesn't trust his ability to tell.

"Love you too, Frankie. I'm going back to sleep now."

Frank grits his teeth. "Can you just _help_ me instead of brushing me off?" He feels something on his face, then, and wipes a hand across it to get it off. It's wet and Frank feels a fresh wave of misery wash over him, hot under his cheeks.

He presses a hand to his eyes. They're itchy and feel hot too. "Look, I'm sorry it's so early, but there's a hardcore scream-off going on right next to me and I can't take it anymore."

Gerard takes a sharp breath. "Frankie, I really don't have any magic spells here. They're babies. They shit, eat, and scream. That's, like, their job." Frank hears Lindsey say something, tinny and small in the receiver, and the rustle of bedclothes.

"Okay," Frank says and winces at his pathetic tone.

"Frank... Frankie, are you crying?" asks Gerard.

"Fuck you, I am not." Frank wipes his eyes and takes a shaky breath.

"You're totally crying." There's more rustling and an indistinct mumble from Gerard - he must've covered the phone - and then Gerard's voice comes back. "Okay, dude. Get your noise-canceling headphones, give them a snack, and I'll be there in like twenty."

The connection goes quiet and Frank kicks out with his foot again, making the chair skid back and then rock forward, spitting Frank out. He grabs a kleenex from the dresser and blows his nose. "Okay, girls, who's ready for a snack?"

There's a twin whimpering from the crib. "Thought so," says Frank. "I got you guys."

He's just putting the empty bottles away when he hears the front door open and shut quietly, followed by the happy whining of his dogs.

The girls are sleepier and don't seem to be working themselves up for another cry, so Frank lowers them gently into their cribs and holds his breath, staring down and waiting.

He hears Gerard walk up behind him. Gerard hooks his chin over Frank's shoulder and says, "You're looking at them like they're grenades about to blow."

"They're more like bagpipes with an autoplay function." Frank tilts his neck, gently headbutting Gerard in greeting.

"Ow," says Gerard.

"That didn't hurt," says Frank.

"It's my head," Gerard points out.

" _My_ head doesn't hurt," says Frank. "Well, it does, but because of the kids. Not because I did anything to you."

"That's because your skull is made of lead."

"Lead is actually a pretty soft metal. Relatively speaking." Gerard flicks Frank on the head and Frank says, "Ow."

"Vengeance is sweet," says Gerard, disentangling himself from Frank. He bends down to peer at the kids, pursing his lips and squinting. "I think they're sleeping."

Frank listens. They're snuffling in unison, quiet, even sleep-noises. "Seems like it. Thanks, man, seriously."

Gerard straightens out and smiles at Frank. He looks as tired as Frank feels, and Frank feels guilt creep in at the edges. "I didn't even do anything, Frankie."

"You came over even though I was an asshole. And--" Frank notices the plastic bag dangling from Gerard's hand. "What is that?"

"Oh!" Gerard reaches into the bag. It crinkles, terrifyingly loud, and Frank grabs him by his t-shirt and drags him outside the room.

"Living room," says Frank in a forceful whisper. "Fucking _go_."

"Okay, okay," says Gerard, letting Frank drag him downstairs and lead him to the couch. "Oof," he says, plopping down into the cushions and wincing. "I think I sat on a chew toy or something."

"They're teething rings," says Frank. "Chew toys are for dogs."

"You lured me here to hurt me," Gerard says and finally gets out whatever was in his plastic bag.

Frank can't see in the dark, so he sits down next to Gerard and draws his hand closer to his face. "You brought me ice cream?"

"Soy ice cream," says Gerard. "They didn't have that in the first store I tried, so that's why it took me longer than I said to get here."

Frank opens his mouth and closes it, feeling his eyes prickle again. He takes the carton and stands up and says, "Bowls," escaping to the kitchen and trying to blink away the stupid invading tears.

Gerard is waiting for him on the couch when he returns with the bowls. Frank sits down a couple of inches away, but Gerard wraps his arm around Frank's shoulders and tugs until Frank sags heavily into his side and their bowls clank against each other, the only sound in the dark house.

Frank feels tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and he rubs his face on Gerard's t-shirt to wipe them away.

"It won't be so hard for much longer, Frankie." Gerard strokes Frank's hair and squeezes his shoulder.

"That's what she said," Frank mumbles and pokes at the ice cream with his spoon. "I really like this brand."

"I know," says Gerard. "Are you going to eat it? Because I'm almost done with mine."

Frank yanks his bowl away and starts to eat. Gerard laughs quietly.

"I'm sorry I never brought you ice cream," Frank says when he's done.

"If Lyn and I have another kid, you can bring me Rocky Road," says Gerard and leans forward to grab some tissues out of the box on the coffee table. "Here," he says, handing them to Frank. "Blow your nose and go to bed."

Frank laughs, too loud, and slaps his hand over his mouth. Gerard raises his eyebrow and Frank blows his nose, snickering quietly. "You're good at being a dad, Geezy."

Gerard snorts and gets his car keys out. "Those weren't dad skills."

Frank hugs him, clinging tightly. "Thanks again. I mean it."

After Gerard leaves, Frank pads upstairs to the bedroom, pausing in front of the nursery. It's silent, so he checks that the baby monitors are still on and crawls into bed with sense of relief. Sweet Pea snuffles on the pillow next to him. The record he's planning on playing for the girls in the morning is sitting by the stereo. Tomorrow they'll call Jamia together. It will be easier.

 

_2007_

"Soundcheck," Brian yells through the door.

"Okay," says Mikey quietly, not loudly enough for Brian to hear, but he's already moved on to the next room. Mikey can hear him knocking three doors down.

It's not a good day. He misses Alicia, yeah, but it's not just that. He stays sitting on the bed until there's a second, softer knock on the door, and Ray's muffled voice says, "Come out, Mikey."

Mikey heaves a sigh and gets up, moving his heavy limbs to the door. "Just a sec," he says, putting his mouth right up to the door so Ray hears him without Mikey having to pitch his voice.

Mikey's reflection in the bathroom mirror looks okay enough for the stage. He's got a gross zit on his chin and another one by his nose, but his concealer is pretty decent so they don't look too bad if he squints. He picks up the eyeliner anyway and adds some more black around his eyes as a distraction, trying to ignore the voice saying that everything about him is fucking fake. He knows that's not true. Theoretically.

Ray knocks again and Mikey grabs his bag and keycard and comes out, pasting on his most blank expression. Ray studies him carefully but doesn't say anything, just takes the bag out of his hand and starts walking to the elevator. Mikey leans on him the fifteen-floor ride down, and it helps.

Mikey sees their car through the glass doors. It's right in front of the hotel, but even the five steps to the car is such a blast of unadulterated Mexico City that he's gasping by the time he slides into the backseat next to Gerard, certain he's bleeding out from the shrapnel of color and noise and people.

Gerard moves over to give him more room. "Your makeup looks great," he says sincerely.

"Thanks," Mikey mumbles and sits on his hands so they don't fly up to pick at his chin.

"You look awesome," says Gerard.

Mikey sighs and puts his head on Gerard's shoulder. Gerard hands him his coffee cup. The rim tastes and smells like berry chapstick, but the cup is almost full, and Mikey sips from it listlessly while the driver jerks the car over to the venue.

Soundcheck sucks; he goes through the motions but the sheer act of having to pay attention, to _stand_ , is completely draining. Everyone keeps shooting him concerned looks, but he makes it through soundcheck okay enough, and then he's herded to the green room. He doesn't even have to look down to hide his eyes because Ray walks in front of him and Gerard and Frank flank him, and Bob is somewhere in the back.

"It's kind of like being escorted by stormtroopers, guys," says Mikey. "Creepy."

"Nah," says Ray. "Frank's a little short for one."

Gerard honks a laugh and Frank rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna hide your picks, Toro."

"Oh god," Mikey mutters when they get to the room and it's full of people, roadies and techs milling around eating the catering. "I can't do this."

"Do you want to sit in the car?" asks Frank.

"The car's either long gone or swarmed by fans, dude," says Ray. "How about that corner?"

Everyone's probably looking, but he can't really bring himself to care. Mikey lets himself be led to a quieter corner of the room where there's a little sofa and water bottles. He sits down, hugging his knees to his chest, and puts his head down, trying not to feel guilty about making his band take care of him when they're as exhausted as he is. Probably even more.

Gerard sits down next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to say," says Mikey. "Life is bleak, the end."

Gerard shoves him and Mikey laughs under his breath, feeling a little lighter.

"I got you some chocolate." Gerard pushes it, already unwrapped, into Mikey's hand. "It's with chiles or something." 

It's kind of melty and gross now that it's touched his jeans, but it's chocolate and it smells awesome, so he holds his head up and eats it. "Thanks."

Gerard ruffles his hair. Mikey looks around the room and it's not quite as imposing as before. It seems quieter, and there's less pressure on his chest somehow. Bob's nearby talking to a roadie, and Ray and Frank are talking quietly on the sofa opposite. From their emphatic hand gestures, it looks like guitar talk. Mikey studies them idly for a few moments until they notice and break off the conversation, smiling at him in unison. Mikey smiles back, just the little bit he feels he can, but they beam at him anyway, and that's good, too. Maybe he'll get through the show without feeling like he's going to die.

He holds out through the first half of the opener, but an hour before they're supposed to go on, the pressure that had lifted comes back, squeezing his head and chest like a vise. Mikey breathes carefully in and out, trying to keep his head blank and pretending like he's not gearing up to burst into tears mid-set.

The dam doesn't burst so much as gently dissolve fifteen minutes before they're supposed to go on, when all of them are pacing nervously sidestage, and the tears spill over. They stream down his cheeks and Mikey patiently waits for them to stop, hiding his face and wiping them away with his hand.

"God, Mikey," says Gerard. Mikey whirls around. It's only Gerard - Ray and Frank are talking to their techs, already totally focused on the show. Mikey recognizes the insistent set of their shoulders and wishes he could summon that from somewhere, somehow, someday, but if it hasn't happened in six years, it probably never will.

"Mikey," Gerard says gently, "Mikey, come here," and wraps him up in a hug.

Mikey shakes his head and puts it down on Gerard's shoulder, feeling the fabric of Gerard's t-shirt go damp underneath his face. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Gerard shakes his head and rubs Mikey's back. "We'll be done so soon, Mikey. Really soon. You're being so fucking awesome."

"I'm not."

"Shut up, I know better."

Mikey laughs in spite of himself. "You always think you know better."

"I'm mostly right," says Gerard and hugs him even tighter. "Is it, like... your meds?" he asks tentatively. "Do you want to talk to a doctor?"

Mikey's stupidly, breathlessly grateful to him for asking, even though he shakes his head no. "I'm talking to mine. And to Alicia. And to my shrink."

"What does that mean?"

"It means everything's going to be okay." Mikey's back is starting to hurt, so he clings for just a moment longer and steps back. "This day's just... weird."

Gerard wrinkles his nose and squints at Mikey, but lets it go. "Movies tonight? I'll let you choose." He doesn't ask Mikey if he's going to be okay, doesn't offer to get someone to fill in. His faith in Mikey is ridiculous, but Mikey's okay enough to accept it.

The screaming coming from the audience is a building crescendo. Brian walks up to them, chucks squeaking on the floor. "Get out there." He raises his eyebrow and looks Mikey in the face. "You okay?"

"He's fine," Gerard says loudly.

"Easy," Brian says.

Ray and Frank walk up. Bob's twirling his sticks and biting his lip. The screaming builds to a roar. Mikey takes a deep breath. "Let's go."

 

_2003_

They're told there's a traveling carnival or some shit a couple of hours away. The girl at the venue even gave Mikey her leftover game tickets, so they take a vote after the show and decide to drive there first. They can sleep post-corn dogs.

It's Frank's turn to drive, and Otter's the only one sober enough to read him the directions, so he gets shotgun. Ray piles into the back with Gerard and Mikey. They bury their noses in comic books right away, even though it's too dark to properly read. It's pretty cute. Ray grins at them and shifts around until Mikey's bass case is not longer in danger of rupturing his appendix.

The show was fucking awesome. They were _on_ and the kids were fucking loud. Ray's still riding the high, every bit of his body going warm and relaxed and kind of tingly remembering. He and Frank work well together, always have, but tonight was some kind of exercise in mind-reading. Or maybe that was the pot. Ray's not sure. "Fucking awesome," he says quietly, carefully sounding it out.

Mikey makes a quiet noise of agreement and puts down his comic book, squeezing his eyes shut and then blinking behind his glasses.

"You're gonna ruin your eyes reading in the dark," says Ray.

"Ha ha," says Mikey in a monotone, pushing his glasses up.

Ray sneaks a hand under Mikey's hoodie to tickle him, and Mikey squirms away with a laugh.

"Is he bothering you?" asks Gerard, puffing up, and Ray hides his smile behind his hand.

Mikey shakes his head. "Are we there yet?"

"I'll turn this car around," says Frank.

Mikey giggles. "I just want a corn dog."

"I want beer," says Ray. He's still feeling the last one he drank after the show, but he doesn't want the buzz to go away.

"We don't have the cash for carnival-price beer, dude," says Otter.

"We don't have the cash for carnival-price corn dogs either," Mikey points out, "but we're getting them anyway."

Mikey is so supportive. "Thanks, Mikey," says Ray. Mikey gives him a little smile in return.

They see the carnival while Otter’s still reading out the last of the directions, gleaming in front of them in soft focus through the dirty windshield. The parking lot’s already half-empty because it’s so late, but they snag a spot in an unlit corner of the lot anyway. Their stuff would be safer by the entrance, but this way they'll be able to sleep without any cops bothering them. 

Gerard shoves Ray and Mikey out of the van and they trudge off to get their tickets. Admission's pretty cheap and Ray's got his share of the venue girl's tickets, so his step's got a bounce to it and maybe his hair's bouncing around too, whatever. Frank laughs like a baby hyena behind him and Ray flips him off without even turning around.

"No, no, Ray," Frank yells over the deafening carousel music coming from the left. "You're born with it!"

"That's makeup, dumbass," Gerard yells back. "You mean he's worth it."

"Fuck yeah, I am," says Ray.

The corndog stand is huge and bright up ahead, kind of like Cinderella's castle. Ray jogs up to it and orders two, already biting into one with relish by the time the other guys walk up.

"Are they good?" asks Mikey.

Ray nods and hands him the other one. He's going to be smelling the grease on his clothes until the next laundromat, but it's worth it. Frank skips everything fried and gets a cherry slushie instead, and Gerard finds the beer, handing one to Ray without complaint when Ray asks.

They stand huddled together, looking around. There are lights in every direction. "What should we do?" asks Ray after a pause.

"Funhouse?" asks Gerard hopefully.

"No fucking way," says Otter.

"I wanna play games," says Ray. "Look, that one has stuffed animal prizes."

"Fuck yeah!" says Gerard, his eyes going round. "Let's go do that."

Gerard is really bad at shooting with a crossbow. They all are, but Gerard gets _mad_ about it, and it's funny enough that after the first round they give him the rest of their tickets and watch.

"I'm going to win that fucking cow," Gerard says insistently and cocks his hip to adjust his stance. His jeans are sliding down his ass and he balances the crossbow in one hand while he pulls them up with the other. The rest of them take a careful step back. "I'm going to win it."

He's so careful with his aim that he's got to be way more than just buzzed. Mikey pats him on the back and Gerard flinches and fires, missing the target again.

"Oops," says Mikey.

"That was the last ticket." Gerard looks at the cow despondently. It stares down at him from the top row of the prize rack, and Gerard looks so _betrayed_ that Ray can't help the laughter that's bubbling up inside him, cracking up so hard his stomach hurts.

Gerard sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and scowls like a boss, and Ray laughs harder, bending over and clutching his middle.

"Toro, what the fuck's gotten into you?" says Frank, starting to giggle when Gerard glares at him too.

"Sorry," Ray gasps out to the stone-faced carnie pulling Gerard's bolts out of the wall in between bouts of laughter.

"I've seen worse," the carnie says. "This is a pretty popular cow."

Frank bursts out laughing and starts to cough. "Fucking inhaled my slushie, fuck," he gasps as Matt hammers him on the back. "Fuck, Otter, that hurts."

Ray sits down on the ground and buries his face in his hands, trying to calm down but shaking with fresh laughter after each calming breath. His hands feel wet, and he wipes the tears from his eyes.

"Dude, should we dunk you into the duck pond?" Mikey's voice asks.

Ray can only see his sneakers through his fingers, so he lowers his hands and looks up. "No, I'm good." He takes a deep breath and stands up. "Sorry, Gee. I'm gonna win you that cow, okay?"

"We don't have any more tickets," says Gerard grumpily, but he looks a little pacified.

"If you hit the target on your first try, 'fro, I'll give you the cow for free," says the carnie. "I'm sick of that fucking thing."

"I'll hold your beer," says Mikey. 

"You're going to drink my beer," says Ray, but hands it over anyway. The carnie hands him the crossbow and Ray put it to his shoulder, trying to remember how much he missed by on the first go. 

"Whoo!" says Frank, and then, "Ow, stop that."

Ray aims, squeezes his eyes shut, and fires. The bolt goes in, crookedly and at the very edge of the target, but definitely inside the line. 

"Wow," says Ray. "I didn't actually think that would work."

"Me neither," says the carnie. He shrugs and takes the cow down from the rack. "Have fun with it, kid." 

The cow's eyes are glittery from up close. It's very soft. Ray strokes its fur against the grain for a moment and offers it to Gerard, who's looking at him with big eyes. 

"Here," says Ray awkwardly. 

Gerard hugs him, the cow wedged between them awkwardly. Ray hugs back with one hand, supporting the cow with the other because the ground is kind of disgusting and the cow is beautiful. They're probably standing right on top of Frank's coughed-up slushie.

"Thanks, Ray," Gerard whispers. 

Ray shrugs, feeling ridiculous, because it's a _cow_. Otter's already moved on to the next game, but Frank's got a soft look in his eyes and Mikey's mouth has a little approving tilt to it. Ray shoves the cow into Gerard's hands and ducks his head. "Are we gonna see what else they've got here or what? Ride some rides?" 

"Okay!" Gerard says happily. "How about the funhouse?" He sets off toward the garishly painted funhouse, hoisting the cow under his armpit and pulling his jeans up by the belt.

"I like the funhouse," says Ray. He looks at Frank and Mikey, who nod. Ray slings his arms around their shoulders and they follow Gerard, lurching together. The funhouse has nothing on them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Sandwich Means](https://archiveofourown.org/works/616805) by [isweedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isweedan/pseuds/isweedan)




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